Drabble Collection
by murderofonerose
Summary: A series of Metalocalypse drabbles. Lots of slash or slash-if-you-squint, mostly either Nathan and Charles or Skwisgaar and Toki right now. Each drabble is stand-alone.
1. Collection

**Warning:** Slash-if-you-squint  
**Pairing:** Nathan/Charles  
**Words:** 104  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

It seems fitting that the first of a collection of drabbles should have this title.

**

* * *

Collection**

* * *

Nathan sheds.

They all do, to a certain extent, but Nathan seems to do so in Charles' office more than the others. Or maybe it's just that his hairs are more noticeable. So what Charles has started doing – purely out of curiosity, mind – is picking them up and putting them in a white envelope.

He waits until the envelope is full before deciding what to do with it.

In the end, after careful consideration, he leaves it on the lead singer's pillow one night while the boys are out drinking. On the front of the envelope he has written, _I believe these are yours_.


	2. A Moment

**Warning:** Slash**  
Pairing:** Nathan/Charles  
**Words:** 343  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Co-written with my friend and suitemate the_kumquat (on livejournal).

Nathan and Charles after sex.

**

* * *

A Moment**

* * *

The air in Nathan's room was heavy with the smell of sex. It was very quiet, though not long before the air had been filled with cries of lust. Now, Nathan sat on the edge of the bed, bent over his notebook, scribbling furiously.

Charles lay back against the pillows, content for the moment to watch. In the dim light of one bedside lamp he could see Nathan's shoulders moving subtly. There were three activities in which, as far as Charles was concerned, Nathan was perfectly in his element: singing (as in the concert earlier that evening), sex (for example, not ten minutes ago), and composing lyrics. Not grumbling bits of ideas into his tape recorder, but actually getting into the flow or writing things down without bothering to pause to ask how something was spelled or for help with rhyming.

Usually Charles didn't like to interrupt that. But he also didn't like being ignored after an intimate moment.

"Ah, Nathan?"

"Hrn?"

"What are you writing about?"

"A song. Maybe."

Charles sat up, and made his way across the bed. He settled down beside Nathan and began to run his fingers through the long, black strands still damp with sweat. Nathan leaned unconsciously into the petting, focusing on his writing. With a quiet sigh, Charles lay his head down on his lover's shoulder.

Nathan paused a moment in his writing. "…Hi."

Charles smiled at him. "Hello."

"Do you, uh…" he held the notebook up uncertainly. "Do you want to read what I've got? So far?"

"I'm alright. I'd just like to sit, for now."

"Oh. Okay." Nathan went back to writing, but it was clear that his flow had been disrupted.

Charles felt a faint twinge of guilt over that – one of those pesky moments where his conscience decided to put in a brief appearance.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I can go back, if you want."

"No, uh, that's fine. You just, uh… keep doin what you're doin." He pushed his head into Charles' hand. Charles smiled, and started to pet Nathan's hair again.


	3. Drunk Texting

**Warning:** Slash**  
Pairing:** Nathan/Charles  
**Words:** 418  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

This is dedicated to Audrey for the typo "jfewell" and D for being such a good drunk Pickles and indirectly giving me drunk typing lessons.

* * *

**Drunk Texting**

* * *

Charles was enjoying a nice, quiet evening when his dethphone buzzed in his pocket. It only rang once, which meant it was either a voicemail (which was impossible, because he was paying quite a lot of money to ensure that his phone always had perfect reception, had he hadn't noticed a missed call) or a text.

And if it was a text, that meant it wasn't business.

With a sigh, he pulled the phone out and checked.

Fr:Nathan Explosion  
hhey charlkes thisisnathewn  
Mar 3, 5:53 pm

Charles raised an eyebrow. Someone had obviously been drinking, though that wasn't much of a surprise. The number of drunken texts to his phone averaged about five a day, usually making ridiculous requests that he tended to alert the Klokateers not to follow… but not usually from Nathan, so he might as well reply to this one.

Fr:Charles Ofdensen  
…Nathan? I have no idea what you're saying.  
Mar 3, 5:58 pm

He waited for a few minutes. When there was no reply, he went back to his paperwork – and _then_ his phone buzzed again, just as he had picked up the first document.

_Timing is everything_, Charles thought dryly.

Fr:Nathan Explosion  
tyish is met ruying totyep  
Mar 3, 6:09 pm

Fr:Nathan Explosion  
kidna dtunk tese newpones suk  
Mar 3, 6:11 pm

Fr:Nathan Explosion  
itsg notw fgoings so jfewell  
Mar 3, 6:14 pm

Charles bit back a quiet laugh. He knew that Nathan could be self-conscious about spelling errors that happened simply because his fingers were too big for the keys, and it was terribly unprofessional of him, but he had a good reply in mind that the half-empty brandy snifter on his desk was daring him to send.

Fr:Charles Ofdensen  
YOU'RE BUYING ME JEWELS? OH NATHAN, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE.  
GIVE THEM TO ME. ARE WE GOING TO BED BATH AND BEYOND LATER?  
Mar 3, 6:31 pm

Not long after hitting send, Charles heard a deep, guttural, "!"

He put his dethphone away, quite satisfied.

* * *

"How did you even know about that?" Nathan grumbled the next day, nursing a hangover and, at Charles' insistence, a cup of coffee.

"I could hear that banshee whore screaming from across the room." Charles paused to take off his glasses, and began cleaning them on a handkerchief. "And she was on the phone."

Nathan considered that for a moment, frowning down into his coffee mug. "Well... whatever. Just don't do that again. Uh, like ever."

Charles smiled pleasantly back. "Don't forget my birthday again, and I won't."


	4. Dethmerch

**Warning:** Slash**  
Pairing:** Nathan/Charles  
**Words:** 185  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Skwisgaar is going to have to steal that back and test it himself. With Toki. Gratuitously.

* * *

**Dethmerch**

* * *

"All right, you want to make a modification to the pelvic thrust mace belt." Charles adjusted his glasses. He had a feeling this was going to be one of those… 'interesting' requests.

"Well," Nathan said, "we've talked about it, and, uh, we think it should be a pelvic thrust massage oil dispenser instead."

Charles bit his tongue to keep from reacting. "...Mm-hmm."

"And we think it should be in with the new dethmerch. So, you know, people will use it."

"...Yes, I see."

"Yeah. So... yeah."

Nathan shrugged, then frowned and reached up, very obviously, to massage a crick in his neck.

Yes, definitely one of those, ahem, requests. Charles raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you have a prototype..."

"Uh, yeah." Nathan pulled it out of his pocket and held it out for inspection. "We had one of those science goofballs in the basement fix Skwisgaar's old belt thing. It works the same, but, uh. With massage oil instead of mace."

Charles took it, a little gingerly. Skwisgaar's hmm? Well, he'd handled worse.

"Has this been tested at all?"

Nathan grinned.

"Nope. Not yet."


	5. Good Hard Deep

**Warning:** Slash**  
Pairing:** Nathan/Charles  
**Words:** 551  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Co-written with my friend and suitemate the_kumquat (on livejournal).

The alternate title to this is, "Good Hard Deep Dickings." :P Dedicated to the Dethtweeters.

**

* * *

Not You... Me**

* * *

"Come on." Nathan rapped his knuckles against Charles' desk, not for the first time since he'd entered the office. "Come oooon." Impatient, he stalked around Charles' desk and chair, trying to get his attention.

"I'm ignoring you," Charles informed him absently.

Nathan scowled. "Come on. Don't be a dick."

"I have a lot of work to do."

"It'll still be there later."

Charles was still steadfastly refusing to be distracted. "Nathan, if I leave it, it will only pile up."

With a sulky scowl, Nathan walked back around the desk, giving one corner of it a good solid kick as he went. "Yeah, so will I," he grumbled.

Charles righted his (thankfully already empty) coffee mug. "Nathan that doesn't make any sense."

Now standing in front of the desk, Nathan kicked it sullenly until the mug tipped over again. "I'm trying to talk to you about stuff!"

"You are trying," Charles corrected, "to talk me into not working so you can have sex with me."

"NO! You weren't listening!"

With a sigh, Charles finally put his pen down and looked up, giving the front man his full attention. "Okay Nathan, I'm listening."

Slowly, and pointing for emphasis, Nathan said, "I want you… to have sex with me."

"I don't see the difference Nathan."

Nathan's eyebrows snapped together, frustrated. "LISTEN. I want… you—" he pointed at Charles "—to have sex with… me." He made a circle with his other hand, stuck the finger he'd been pointing at Charles with through and wiggled it a bit.

"Oh." Charles blinked. "Oh I see. Well. Um. What…Why?"

"Uh…" Nathan dropped his arms back down to his sides and looked away shiftily. He mumbled something.

"Excuse me?"

"'Cause, uh… 'cause Skwisgaar said it feels really good. When Toki does it. To, uh. To him."

Charles considered this a moment, taking his glasses off to give them a mostly unnecessary cleaning as he did so. "Well yes…" He put his glasses back on, sliding them up the bridge of his nose as he spoke. "Nathan, it's been quite a while. I'm not sure if I… would be satisfactory."

Nathan gave him an almost insulted glare. "You don't forget how to fuck," he growled firmly. "Everybody knows how to fuck. It's like riding a fucking bike."

"…You really want me to, ah… fuck you?"

"Yeah." Nathan looked down at his feet, shuffling them awkwardly. "It's uh, supposed to be pretty brutal. In a good way. And you seem to think it's pretty great, so…"

Charles watched him pensively for another moment, then stood.

"All right."

Nathan gave a little start at the words. "Really?" A vaguely suspicious note crept into his voice. "You're not going to change your mind again and do more work stuff like a boring dildo?"

It was a fair enough question after a good twenty minutes of pestering, so Charles merely said, "No, Nathan. I'm not." He walked around the desk, approaching Nathan but leaving him his space, and held out his hands. "It… it can wait."

Immediately, Nathan reached out and grabbed both of Charles' hands with one of his. He flashed a grin that seemed to say _Ha, I got your hands_, and his head tilted down just enough for his hair to fall in his face a little.

"Cool."


	6. Drunk

**Warning:** Slash**  
Pairing:** Toki/Skwisgaar  
**Words:** 241  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Set sometime after Dethdad, I guess.

* * *

**Drunk**

* * *

Toki is drunk, which, as of recently, isn't unusual. Skwisgaar doesn't really approve, but he can convince himself that this is mostly just out of habit. Besides, he's drunk too, so it's not like he's anyone to talk.

Usually, that wouldn't stop him – from telling Toki that he's doing it wrong, or to fuck off, or both – but right now there's something about the other guitarist that's especially… daring? Affectionate? Desperate? Whatever it is, Skwisgaar isn't sure how to react. And Toki has his face buried in blond hair, not daring to even _try _to make eye contact, so maybe he realizes how awkward this is too.

For the moment Skwisgaar has resolved to tolerate the hand on his face, cupping his jaw. He's on shakier ground with the hand on his ass, and even more so with the boner that Toki is rubbing tentatively against his left hip, but he keeps his arms crossed and says nothing. But every second he doesn't spend protesting seems to give Toki more confidence…

It's actually not bad. All things considered it's actually kind of nice, especially when Toki's lower hand slides around to fondle him in front. Skwisgaar can even allow some affection to show on his face (and convince himself that this is mere physical enjoyment and also mostly just out of habit).

After all, the only other person in his room tonight is Toki, and _he's_ not going to see it.


	7. All In A Day's Work

**Warning:** Some slash-if-you-squint. Mostly Nathan/Charles. You'd have to strain your eyes more to see Skwisgaar/Toki in this one. Sorry shippers.**  
Word Count:** 306**  
Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Brutal.**  
Author Notes:** This was another case of, I wrote the first half of it with a very vague idea for an end in mind, let it sit for a few weeks, and then came back and wrapped it up with something completely different from what I'd originally planned. The first three sentences came out very Douglas Adams for some reason, thus the Hitchhikers Guide references.

Always know where your towel is, jerk-offs.

**

* * *

All In a Day's Work**

* * *

There was a short, uneasy silence.

There was a quick splat-thud.

There was a long, uneasy silence.

"Whats ams going on?" Toki asked, entering the room after Charles. "Hey butlers guy, you gots red alls over you…"

Skwisgaar crossed his arms irritably and looked away with an annoyed _pfft_.

"Yes, Toki. I'm aware." Charles just counted himself lucky that the bucket had fallen to the side, rather than straight down on his head. He took off his glasses and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, careful not to get paint on it.

Considering the band's sense of humor, he was lucky paint was all it was.

He could feel them all watching him as he carefully wiped the paint from around his eyes as best he could and put his glasses back on. Everything was red-tinged and a bit smeared, but at least he could see.

"Well," Charles said.

Nathan walked up to him and handed him something fuzzy. "Here. I, uh, just watched this thing. It wasn't very metal, but it said it's important to have towels. So, I guess… that's true."

"Thank you," Charles told the front man. He was trying hard to retain some semblance of his dignity, in spite of a very large portion of his rational mind reminding him that as far as the band was concerned it probably didn't matter much at this stage.

"No problem," Nathan rumbled, watching him intently for a moment. Then, abruptly, he wandered off.

Charles sighed and headed back to his office. He had a change of clothes there, and an adjoining bathroom with a shower in case of any accidents. Usually it was ink spills or bloodstains – but paint wasn't that much different. All in a day's work.

There were towels there too, but Charles held onto the one Nathan had given him.


	8. Skin

**Warning:** Slash and drug use _and_ GMLFs.**  
Word Count:** 264**  
Disclaimer: **I own nothing. **  
Author Notes: **Skwisgaar put something in Toki's wine, probably with the intention of proving a point. Also probably without telling him. This was originally a little longer, but... I decided that I preferred Toki not knowing Skwisgaar was going to do this. Which kind of makes it dub-con but, well, it will be a while before he complains...

The prompt was, "Toki. Skin."

* * *

**Skin**

* * *

He's pretty sure he can see all the blood vessels in his hand, right down through the skin, and feel every hair of the fur blanket he's sprawled on top of. If he wanted, he could count them all with perfect accuracy. He starts to, but loses track somewhere in the twenties when he feels breath on his bare legs. Out out, in in; subdivided into two people. Sighing, he lets his eyes slide closed and his hand fall to the blanket all in one movement, possibly the most graceful one he's ever made. He can feel the white hairs of both the blanket and the women against his pores, cradling the skin that cradles his bones, molding gently to the old scars that crisscross his back and shoulders as two mouths trail attentively, lovingly along the inside of his thighs. He can feel the skin of two bodies against his lower legs. Soft skin, age-worn. Inviting. He could get lost in it.

Blond hair falls across his cheek and a third mouth is at his. Plush, slightly chapped lips and a wickedly fast tongue. He can taste the same wine he was drinking not long ago sweet, the way he likes it and knows that there's something odd about that but doesn't care enough to think very hard about what. The blond pools with the brown on his pillow and the white of the blanket, and two mouths go to work between his legs. He opens his mouth in a silent moan and lets the person kissing him have exactly what he wants.


	9. Stops Copies

**Warning:** Totally slash  
**Pairing:** Skwisgaar/Toki  
**Words:** 632  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

They're both going to need to change pants.

**

* * *

Stops Copies**

* * *

"Stops copies me!" Skwisgaar yells.

"Stops copies me!" Toki yells back.

They've been doing this for a while already. "_Stops copies me!_" they yell in unison. Every time they say it they move in a little closer, each trying to crowd the other out, get him to back off. It'll never happen. They could go on like this for hours.

"_Stops copies me!_"

They're close enough to smell each other's breath. Suddenly, Skwisgaar jerks forward an extra inch and kisses Toki full on the mouth, leaving the other man speechless for a brief moment.

Toki blinks, then lunges forward and kisses Skwisgaar right back.

Skwisgaar pushes him off, yelling, "Ah-ha, you sees dere, you copies me agains!" But he's kept a grip on the front of Toki's t-shirt, and hauls him back in for a kiss that far outdoes the last one. When he's done he shoves him away again.

"You copies _me_," Toki protests, stumbling from the shove. "I kisses you to gets you back and suddenlies you does the sames thing!" He catches a handful of Skwisgaar's hair and tugs; the lead guitarist falls against him with a yelp and Toki kisses him again.

This time Skwisgaar kisses back, hard, and it's teeth and tongue and pushing and pulling on each other. They could just break apart and start throwing punches instead, but then Ofdensen might send them to Twinkletits again and no one wants that to happen.

"Stops copies me," Skwisgaar hisses as they break apart for air.

Toki wraps an arm around the taller man's waist, and tightens his grip when Skwisgaar responds in kind. "Stops copies me."

Skwisgaar slides a leg between Toki's, and narrows his eyes when he realizes that this means Toki's thigh is now nestled comfortably against his crotch. "Stops copies me."

The hand Toki still has twined through blond hair, clutching tightly near the nape of the neck, tugs and their lips crash together again.

"_Stops copies me_."

They're not just attacking with their mouths anymore. Skwisgaar sets the tempo with his hips and Toki follows his lead; Toki backs Skwisgaar against the nearest wall, both panting heavily.

"Stops," Skwisgaar moans.

"Copies," Toki replies breathily.

They grind against each other insistently now. "_Stops copies me_."

"_Stops copies me_."

"_Stops copies me_—"

Skwisgaar comes first by a few seconds and lets go of his handful of Toki's shirt, which now has a small rip in the collar. He's going to have to change pants, but he doesn't care yet. Toki finishes against him with a hard kiss, biting the taller man's lip.

There's a moment of calm, with Skwisgaar sagging satedly against the wall and Toki sagging satedly against Skwisgaar.

Then—

"You copies me," Skwisgaar mumbles.

"Whats?"

"I gets off first, and you copies me."

"That's not— I didn'ts—!"

Skwisgaar stretches lazily. "Didn'ts even takes off you's pants off. Stops copies me, Toki."

Toki frowns. "Well, I's goings to go change my pants. And if you does that, you copies me," he says, backing away.

He turns and quickly leaves the room. Skwisgaar eyes his ass as the younger guitarist walks out, decides he's probably seen better, and undoes his belt as soon as the door is slammed shut. Copying be damned; he's not going to sit around basting in his own jizz all day. Kicking off his boots, he pulls the pants off and wipes himself on the gray material, then tosses them in a corner.

"Nots bad," he muses to himself, sitting down on the bed and reaching for his guitar.

Maybe later he'll have a klokateer wash those pants so he can put them back on, but for now he's content to rock out with his cock out. And maybe contemplate starting another argument with Toki sometime soon. Maybe.


	10. Backrub

**Warning:** Slash (implied Skwisgaar/Toki)**  
Word Count: **293  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

For a friend of mine who requested secret Toki for Skwisgaar with backrubs thrown in there somewhere.

I'm starting to think I have a habit of sort of not quite vague endings.

**

* * *

Backrub**

* * *

"Hey, Tokis."

Toki looked up from – well, nothing in particular. He'd been staring off into space and rubbing absently at his shoulder.

"You gots somest'ings wrongs with you's arms?" Skwisgaar asked proprietarily.

"Um…" Toki rubbed his shoulder again, not making eye contact. "Why does you asks?"

Skwisgaar crossed his arms and frowned down at him. "Because we gets the concerts to be plays in a few hours and I can'ts plays for both of us likes I does ons the recordings if you ams gots the worse thans usual guitars."

"I can play fines," Toki said defensively. "I just gots a sore shoulder from last nights."

"Why, whats you do's?"

He shrugged, then winced. "Don't knows, too drunks to resmember."

"Pft, drunks and hurts yous-self, way to goes Toki." Skwisgaar shook his head. "If you's shoulder ams bad you's arm wills be bad, and if you's arm ams bad then you's hand will be bads, and if you's hand ams bads then the playing will be shits. Go gets a backsrubs."

Toki rubbed his shoulder sheepishly. He'd just been thinking about that, and would have already asked one of the hoods to get a masseuse if Skwisgaar hadn't come in and started interrogating him. For about half a second he considered asking _him_ for a backrub, imagining those talented hands playing his muscles into relaxed submission. Wowee, that would be nice…

"I even calls a employee to does that fors you," Skwisgaar continued charitably.

Or that worked too.

"Ja, okay," Toki agreed.

As long as he'd gotten the other man drunk enough to not remember what they'd been doing when Toki had hurt himself. That would be pretty embarrassing. Skwisgaar would never let him live down falling out of bed while doing _that_.


	11. Corpse Paint

**Warning:** Slash-if-you-squint  
**Pairing/Characters:** Skwisgaar, Toki, brief appearances put in by Nathan, Pickles, Murderface  
**Word Count: **692  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Inspired by art by Aryblack on deviantArt. (Gallery, Metalocalypse folder, "Makeup remover".)

**

* * *

The First And Last Time Toki was Ever In Charge of Corpse Paint**

* * *

"Ow! Stops pokings in my eye!"

"Closes dems, den," Skwisgaar snapped, rubbing at a particularly stubborn spot of gray on the side of Toki's nose. "Woulds haves been easiers to gets dis off last nights if you didn'ts pass outs like a dumb dildo diabetes guy and sleep forevers."

* * *

_The show was over and the five of them were all still riding the high of the final encore (among other things), but Toki was easily the most excited. They'd put him in charge of corpse paint as well as snacks this time and he seemed pretty happy about it. If this how annoying he was going to be every time they let him do stuff, maybe they should rethink that letting him get their mail for his birthday idea._

* * *

"Nots my faults," Toki whined. "I thoughts I gots over that, the doctors saids I was fines!"

"Ja, and dens you eats lots of de sugars and guess what comes back to happens. Pft." Skwisgaar shook his head. "You don'ts listens, dat ams de problems."

* * *

_"Toki, calm the fuck down," Nathan said, passing him a beer. "Here, take this."_

_"Nots yets, I gots to takes the makes-up off nows!" Since Nathan was closest Toki pounced on him first, causing the frontman to drop the beer bottle in surprise._

* * *

"You's just luckies you takes dat nap before you gets to Morderface," Skwisgaar continued. "Tries dat ons him and he stabs you for outsing hims as de gays and likings it, maybes. Den whats we does for rhythms guitar? Irriskponsibles."

* * *

_"Gahd, what he hell is he doin'?"_

_"Get him the fuck off me!"_

_"He'sh trying to schuck your fasche off! Shick, twischted..."_

_"STOP LICKING MY FACE, YOU ASSHOLE!"_

_"...Why ams dat comings off ons his tongue?"_

* * *

"I means really, Toki, whats you t'inkings reskplacings de paints wit' dat stuff. What if it runs when we sweats and gets intos our-"

"Ow! You poked me ins the eye agains!"

"Den listens to me and close dems while I does dis!" Grumbling to himself, Skwisgaar tossed the soiled cotton ball on the floor and grabbed a fresh one, dipping it in the special sugar solvent that Jean-Pierre had prepared and going back to work.

* * *

_When Toki was done with Nathan's face, he looked wildly around for his next victim and Pickles wasn't quick enough to get out of the way._

_Nathan, at this point, was too winded to chase after him and felt vindictively that if it had to happened to him then everybody else had to experience the brutality of Toki's removal technique as well. The stuff was still on his arms, though, so he sent a hood to bring the manager. Ofdensen would figure out how to get it off._

* * *

Finally, Toki closed his eyes with a little pout, like a little kid. Skwisgaar allowed himself a small smile at the sight.

He hadn't volunteered to clean his fellow guitarist up, but he hadn't given much more than a token protest when the others had elected him to do it. There was something he wanted to try.

* * *

_By the time Pickles stopped struggling, Skwisgaar knew pretty much what to expect. Murderface had already fled, so it was obvious who was next. When Toki jumped on him he was ready._

_It wasn't hard to meet Toki's mouth everywhere it tried to go; it also didn't taste as bad as Skwisgaar had expected, just sweet enough to almost make him gag. Apparently Toki had switched the stage paint with... some sort of candy paste._

_Then Toki surprised him by changing directions entirely and going for an arm instead. He exchanged puzzled looks with his bandmates, unable to explain to them or himself why Toki seemed to prefer candy to making out with a sex god._

_Toki passed out a minute later, about two seconds before Ofdensen showed up with one of the emergency tranquilizer guns._

* * *

"Skwisgaar?" Toki asked.

"Ja?"

"How comes we both gots to be in our underwears?"

Skwisgaar smirked. "I shows you ins a minute, Toki." As soon as he got the rest of that candy stuff off. He didn't like the taste.


	12. As Read

**Warning: **Slash  
**Pairing/Characters: **Skwisgaar/Toki  
**Word Count: **326  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Skwisgaar knows something that Toki didn't expect him to.

**

* * *

As Read**

* * *

Later, Skwisgaar would never be sure why he'd brought it up. But at the time, stretched more or less straight on his side with Toki pressed against back and their sweat slow to dry while they lay so close, it seemed like as good an idea as anything.

He turned his head, not quite looking over his shoulder. "Remembers that time we tours in Spains? And brokes down dat big church place whats they weren't goings to finishes for de tens or twenty years or whatevers anysway?"

"The gawpy place? Ja."* Toki propped himself up a little, enough to be able to see Skwisgaar's face and look at him with sleepy comfortable curiosity.

Skwisgaar smirked a little for his benefit. "Dats whens you was looses you's virgins."

Toki gaped at him. "How... How you knows?" He shifted nervously and Skwisgaar felt a jolt of air rush between them. It wasn't really cold since they were still under the blankets, but it wasn't really pleasant either. Fortunately, he didn't try to move away.

"I happens to takes a walks by your hotels room," Skwisgaar said, sounding immensely pleased with himself. "Hears some noises. I happens to still be theres when someones come outs and you saids your goodsbyes - dats am de parts dat was importants to tells me what happen."

A red flush crept into Toki's cheeks, but he held his ground. "So? Whats the big deals?"

The smugness of the smirk went up a few more notches, then- "Nothings," Skwisgaar told him. He propped himself up too and twisted to kiss him, catching Toki by surprise. "I just thoughts of its just nows. Dat guy looks a lots like me. Ams you going to tells me I ams de greatest things and likes heavens, too?"

"I probablies won't tell you that," Toki replied, shoving him down playfully.

"I wills just takes it as read, thens."

Instead of replying, Toki dropped down to kiss him in retaliation.

_

* * *

* - La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, by Antoni Gaudi, will be finished in 2026 at the earliest. Unless Dethklok has a concert there first._


	13. Careful

**Warning: **Slash-if-you-squint  
**Pairing/Characters: **Skwisgaar, Toki  
**Word Count:** 235  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Toki takes very good care of his friends, when they aren't too busy dying or something.

I guess this is preslash, when Skwisgaar and Toki are just good friends and haven't thought to jump into bed with each other yet. Obviously this sort of innocence can only last so long, but there you go.

* * *

**Careful**

* * *

Toki is sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, gesturing for Skwisgaar to join him. The taller man does so, reluctantly. He doesn't like having to condescend all the way down to the floor - unless there's nakedness involved, and there isn't. Not with Toki.

There _is_ an awful lot of leg between his ass and the floor. He doesn't like to admit it, but he's a little afraid of heights. Sitting down, particularly in these sorts of situations, strike him as a particularly controlled form of falling, and that makes him uncomfortable.

Toki is completely aware of this. He's noticed that Skwisgaar will climb any given staircase without a care, but, sober or drunk, if the same stairs are the tiniest bit slippery for any reason he will absolutely refuse to go anywhere near them. He knows that if he gives Skwisgaar a little nudge while the other man is on one foot (say, in the middle of a step), he'll pitch a fit. He understands that this is less a fear of heights and more a strong paranoia that the lead guitarist might fall and injure his arms, or worse still his hands.

So without thinking, Toki grabs him by the hips - ignoring the loud, startled complaints - and guides him to the much softer landing spot of his own lap. Skwisgaar might be fallible, but _he_ won't let his friend fall.


	14. Wtf just Hey, wait!

**Warning: **Slash  
**Pairing/Characters: **Nathan/Charles  
**Word Count:** 417  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

The internet becomes Nathan's yoga instructor. (It will probably get fired soon.)

**

* * *

Wtf just… Hey, wait!**

* * *

Nathan decided that typing "yoga" into a Google Image search had been a bad idea. He'd found an image showing black silhouettes of people posing and was now stuck in the first one, unable to move much without worrying he'd fall.

And then Charles walked in. It was a lot like the time Charles had walked in on a drunken game of Twister, only a lot more embarrassing. There wasn't even the excuse of alcohol to hide behind. And as hard as Nathan was trying to pretend that bending over backwards until your hands touched the floor and then staying that way indefinitely was a perfectly normal thing to do, he was pretty sure he wasn't pulling it off very well.

"Uh... hi."

"Hello, Nathan," Charles replied blandly. "Doing all right there?"

"Yeah." Nathan breathed a mental sigh of relief. Maybe the manager hadn't noticed what he was doing. After all, sometimes Charles didn't listen to what he said, either. Or... was that the other way around?

"Okay then. Oh, and I hope you haven't forgotten about the press conference later today."

"Ugh, that thing."

"Yes. You have about five hours. What you'll need to say is already typed up and in your room. If you loose it, I've made extra copies."

Nathan nodded, though he wished he hadn't almost instantly because it just drew attention to the fact that his head was upside-down. Beneath him, his hair swayed back and forth.

Charles seemed to accept this as a response, but didn't leave the room. Instead, he walked until he was standing right in front of Nathan. Then he turned his back on him entirely. What surprised Nathan the most was the speed and grace with which he sank into the position, and second most how well he had judged the distance between where their faces would be.

With his short hair, Charles looked just about the same upside-down as he did right side up. The only difference was that his glasses slid a tiny bit higher on his nose. He kissed Nathan.

It was only for a few seconds, and then he popped back right-side up as easy as breathing and left with a calm, "Don't forget about that press conference. It's important."

"What the fuck just... Hey, wait!" Nathan called, and fell down in exactly the way he'd been trying to avoid for the past half hour. It hurt about as much as he'd expected it would and then some. "_Fuck_, ow..."


	15. Scream For Your Cream

**Warning: **Slash  
**Pairing/Characters: **Nathan/Charles  
**Word Count:** 332  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Die. Die. You're dying for a cup.

It seems to have decided to be a songfic, insofar as I hazard to define what that is.

**

* * *

Scream For Your Cream**

* * *

After drinking enough of it, Charles will readily admit that he likes coffee. Real coffee, from the hills of Columbia. The Duncan Hills blends, he can be easily convinced, would wake him from a thousand deaths. (Overkill, really - reversing the second, surely to be brought on soon by overwork, would be sufficient.) If a much needed mug of the black beverage is withheld from him, he can be pressed into saying that he is dying for a cup... and that, given the usual circumstances, so would Nathan if he didn't hand it over _right now_.

At which point, Nathan grins and dares him to come get it.

Charles waits to be provoked into actually doing so until the coffee had cooled, so that if it spills (which is likely) neither of them will be scalded. After a reasonable amount of time has passed, he attacks - leaping suddenly and fluidly over the desk straight at the man taunting him.

He expects that Nathan will be able to withstand the tackle but has underestimated the element of surprise. If someone where lunging at _him_ he would be able to react in time, but the frontman's reflexes aren't nearly as honed.

Impact. Charles manages to catch the coffee mug as they go down. Floor. He drains it, not minding Guatemalan blend, Ethiopian, or French vanilla roast cold, and tosses it aside while Nathan is still trying to catch his breath. His skin and teeth are buzzing from entirely too much caffeine. His eyes feel wired open.

Then he stretches. Long hours of sitting at his desk (no matter how comfortable that chair is), fingers wrapped around a pen or a phone, means he has a lot of stretching to do to prepare himself. He also shrugs out of his suit jacket in the process.

"You're going to get it now," he says in a high-strung, excited voice that reminds Nathan oddly of Facebones.

And Charles proceeds to redefine what "dying for a cup" means.


	16. Losing the Bet

**Warning: **Contains slash and Murderface  
**Pairing/Characters: **Skwisgaar/Murderface  
**Word Count: **475  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Skwisgaar magnanimously decides to show Murderface his recently acquired collection of ladies panties. Admission isn't exactly free, though.

Set right after Fertilityklok., probably while Toki is still out celebrating his birthday. I had a lot of fun writing this, heh.

**

* * *

Losing the Bet**

* * *

"Holy schit," Murderface gasps. It was scarcely audible, barely an exhale of breath.

He doesn't know how to feel about Skwisgaar's collection. In some corner of his mind he knows he should be spitting mad, or wildly jealous, or... or something. But he's just in awe. This alone is just from their bet! Part of him is surprised that there are no granny panties in there, but another part of him isn't. Skwisgaar made a point of only sleeping with women that he, Murderface, would want to sleep with. (Want to, if he had is choice. Want to if they would let him. Not if he's getting desperate. Beggars can't be choosers, and other stupid shit sayings like that.)

It's a beautiful collection. Just looking at it is... Well. He's glad that Skwisgaar waited until his dick had healed and getting it up isn't painful anymore. Murderface is sure that it's physically impossible to look at this many scanty scraps of fabric and not think about what they'd been pressed right up against, what they'd been taken off for.

Four hundred of them. He can imagine them all. It brings tears to his eyes, and a hand to the front of his shorts.

But not _his_ hand.

He looks slowly at Skwisgaar, who's eyeing him and standing uncomfortably close. The tall Swede, though not so much taller, seems to bend over him, a looming figure. It's as easy for Murderface to imagine that blonde hair is hanging down around him like a curtain as it is to imagine the women.

"So, I shows you," Skwisgaar murmurs. A hint of a smile plays across his full lips. Murderface isn't sure if he means that in the past or the future tense. If future, obviously an imminent one.

That hand really knows what it's doing, too. Murderface can't bring himself to push it away. Not after all that time spent in a wheelchair with bandages wrapped around for all the world to see. This is private. Or at least as private as Skwisgaar's room ever can be, with it's metaphorical revolving doors. Another quiet gasp spills from Murderface's mouth, whistling a little in the gap between his teeth.

"H-hey, I thought you were gay for Toki or shomething," he manages to say.

Skwisgaar shrugs, without stopping what he's doing. "I likes all kinds," he says simply.

Murderface accepts this instantly with a single shaky nod. That's certainly true of his taste in women. Fat, ugly, hairy, gnarled... Dethklok's bassist has more in common with some of the lead guitarist's groupies than he's ever thought about before. He isn't sure how he feels about this - _any_ of this - but oh god, that hand. Surrounded by the greatest collection of women's underwear he's ever seen he can close his eyes, imagine whatever he wants, and _worship_ that hand.


End file.
